Noble Intentions: Season One

by L. T. Ryan

  Pierre sat down in the chair next to Clarissa's bed. He looked around the room. Just like every other hospital room he had ever been in. Gadgets littered the room. He had no idea what most did. Why would he? He had medical training, but in field medicine. He never had a need to learn any more than that. If a man went down they did everything they could to save him. If they couldn't save him, then they did everything they could to save the body. If they couldn't save the body, they moved on.

  He watched Clarissa. Her chest rose and fell with each breath she took. He thought about his own daughter, who was eighteen now. She decided to forgo her education for two years and join the Peace Corp. He shuddered at the thought. Some of the places the Peace Corps operated were the same places he did, both during his time in the service and now. He worried that she'd end up in the middle of a gun fight, or worse, taken hostage by a band of rebels or a guerrilla force.

  "What kind of man is Jack?" he asked the sleeping woman.

  She didn't respond.

  "Is he a man of nobility, as his name suggests?" Pierre snickered. He doubted that was an original joke, but he said it anyways.

  "Why does he care about you so much? You're not related, at least not by the case jacket we have on him."

  She still didn't respond.

  He sighed, stood, and leaned over her. "Whatever it is, we better make sure to keep you safe. I don't need Jack Noble taking out half my team."

  Her eyes fluttered and opened. "Jack?"

  "No," he said. "Save your strength."

  He saw fear in her eyes. Her mouth opened to scream, but all she could manage was a whisper.

  "It's OK. My name is Pierre. I am a friend of Jack's."

  She settled back and tried to smile.

  "Welcome back, Clarissa." Pierre sat back in the chair. He pulled out his phone. He typed a simple message. She's awake. He sent the message to Jack as he left the room.

  5

  Charles walked slowly down the narrow road. A few mopeds passed by. The road was too narrow for cars. The coastal Italian town of Ameglia suited him fine. Located halfway between Genoa and Pisa, Ameglia was often neglected by tourists. Those who made the trip found a town made up of a cluster of seaside buildings set between the hills and the Mediterranean. The locals totaled fewer than five thousand. Charles didn't exactly blend in, but the locals didn't pay him much attention.

  Seven men accompanied Charles. Two in front and two behind him. Another man stayed about a hundred yards ahead. The sixth man stayed around a hundred yards behind. A dark haired man named Alonso walked with Charles. Alonso stood around six feet tall and weighed an athletic two hundred pounds. Charles dwarfed him. They were engaged in light conversation. Alonso had become Charles's right hand man and stayed by his side.

  Charles pulled a vibrating phone from his pocket. He called to the four men nearest him. They all walked away, giving him some space. Alonso stayed by his side.

  Charles answered the phone.

  "Mr. Charles," the old man said. "How are you today?"

  "I’d be better if you were dead."

  Alonso pulled out a cigarette, lit it and offered it to Charles.

  Charles drew on the filterless cigarette. "What do you want?"

  "Is that any way to talk to your boss, Mr. Charles?"

  "You ain't my boss anymore."

  "Do you have any idea who you are talking to? You should hold your tongue."

  "You should hold yours," Charles said.

  "I could have a team of ten men to that little town inside fourteen hours, Mr. Charles. Do you understand that?"

  "Better choose the right ten, Feng."

  Alonso tapped Charles on the shoulder. He mouthed the word Feng.

  Charles nodded and covered the phone with his large palm. "Yeah, that's his name."

  "Last name?" Alonso asked.

  Charles shook his head and returned his attention to the phone. "Listen, I'm not taking this shit from you anymore. We are through. If you want to make a big deal out of it then let's go."

  "Mr. Charles," the old man said. "We don't have to go down this route. Let bygones be bygones."

  "Screw you."

  "What do you want? More power? More men? Tell me what you need to make you happy."

  "I already told you, Feng. I want Jack dead. You wouldn't give me the satisfaction."

  "Just let me use him a few more times and then I'm done with him," the old man said.

  "Screw that and screw you."

  "You had better watch your back, Mr. Charles."

  "You had better watch yours, Feng."

  Charles hung up and chuckled. He turned to Alonso. "Old bastard has no idea what's about to happen."

  "You know he's going to come after you, right?" Alonso said.

  "Yup," Charles said. "I know that."

  "What will you do?"

  Charles shrugged. "Pay them off. Hell, he might make the mistake of sending guys we already own."

  Alonso nodded. "I'll keep an ear open."

  The only people who knew that Alonso defected were Charles and the team of six men with him in Ameglia. Alonso knew which men were already in Charles's pocket, so he spent his time talking with the higher ups that weren't.

  "When will we take action?" Alonso asked.

  "After he tries to take me out."

  "Risky, isn't it?"

  "We should have a lead on when it goes down. If we do it sooner we run the risk of losing the guys on the fence. The more internal dissension there is the more risk we run that one of the families tries to take over our territory."

  "Makes sense. So we wait then?"

  "Yeah," Charles said. "We wait."

  6

  The pounding in Jack's head woke him up early Saturday morning. Sunlight filtered in through the sheer curtains hanging in front of the large windows. He rolled over, grabbed his watch off the nightstand. Six a.m. Not a good start to what promised to be an eventful few days. He rubbed his eyes with his palms, sat up and stretched his arms over his head. He picked up the telephone receiver and dialed 0 for the front desk.

  "Bonjour," the cheerful female voice said.

  "Coffee," Jack said. "Make that two coffees."

  "Oui, yes sir. Right away."

  He placed the receiver on the cradle and grabbed the TV remote. He flipped through a few stations and stopped when he saw footage of the hit on Foster from three days ago. His eyebrows raised in unison. The footage had been altered. The shot of him leaving was darker and grainier now, making it impossible to pick him out. They showed an altered photo of the suspect. Long hair, glasses, and thick around the midsection. No one would mistake the photo for Jack.

  Jack exhaled loudly and stood up. He opened the door to the small balcony. Before he could step outside he heard a knock at the door. He grabbed his nine millimeter off the nightstand, went to the door and checked through the peephole. A young woman in a hotel uniform stood on the other side. He cracked the door to make sure she was alone.

  "Good morning, sir."

  "Morning," he said. He opened the door and let her in.

  She carried the coffees on a tray. A silver cup with a spout contained more than enough cream. Around a dozen sugar cubes sat in a plastic bowl.

  Jack stepped around her and grabbed his wallet off the nightstand. He pulled out five euros and handed it to her for a tip.

  "Thank you, sir."

  He nodded and showed her out of the room. The obnoxious New Yorker walked by and made an obscene gesture at Jack. Jack rolled his eyes at the man. Let's meet one more time.

  Jack fixed his coffee with cream and one sugar. He stepped out onto the small balcony. The city hadn't yet come to life. The serene atmosphere lulled him into a false state of comfort. He knew it wouldn't last, but decided to enjoy the feeling. At least for one cup of coffee.

  He looked out toward the sea and planned his day. No longer a suspect, he didn't have to hitch a ride or take the train. He decided to rent a moped for the short trip. The t
own was barely thirty miles away. The coastal highway would get him there in under an hour.

  Pierre told him to wait until Sunday morning to make the trip. Jack decided to leave earlier than that. He wanted as much time in the little town as possible before making the hit. He still didn't know when the hit would go down, though. He pulled out his cell phone and called Pierre.

  No answer.

  He tossed the phone on the bed and got dressed. He stepped out of the room, down the hall and into the elevator. The elevator stopped on the second floor and an elderly woman with a small fluffy white dog stepped on. He nodded. She smiled. They rode to the lobby in silence. Jack waited for the elderly woman to step out. She did. He followed. Walked through the lobby and stopped at the front desk.

  "Bonjour!" the young woman with the name tag Olivia said.

  He guessed she was the same cheerful voice that greeted him on the phone a few hours earlier.

  "I'd like to extend my stay another week," he told her.

  "Excellent. What name is the room under?"

  "Harrod."

  "Yes, OK. All set. Anything else?"

  "Yeah, where can I rent a moped for a few days?"

  She smiled and gestured with her hands. "Out through the doors and turn right on Rue de Belgique. Three blocks down there is a shop where you can rent mopeds and bikes. A bike might be easier."

  "Thank you," Jack said.

  He walked out through the doors and turned right on Rue de Belgique. Passed the small cafe. He turned his head and looked in. Viv stood close to the window. She was talking to a young couple. Looked to be Americans. Probably here on vacation. He wanted to go in. He wanted to apologize to her. He walked past the cafe and continued on.

  He reached the shop and walked through the frosted glass door. The shop was empty. Bells that hung from the glass door chimed and alerted the store to Jack's presence. A young man stepped through the open door behind the sales counter. He had short blond hair and blue eyes. His head looked large on his slight frame. He smiled at Jack.

  "How can I help you?" the man asked in French.

  "I'd like to rent a Moped for a week," Jack replied in English.

  The man nodded, smiled and then ducked behind the counter. He popped back up moments later with a large binder. He sat the binder on the counter and opened it.

  "You have ID with you, yes?" he asked.

  Jack nodded and placed his Sherman Harrod picture ID on the counter.

  "Excellent," the man said. "How much do you weigh?"

  "Two-twenty, maybe two-twenty-five."

  "Do you plan on traveling far? A Vespa might not be the best option if so.” He looked Jack up and down. “Wouldn't be comfortable for a man your size on a long drive."

  "No, not far at all. Just around town."

  Jack didn't care. He'd once spent a week in a muddy field without leaving his spot. An hour on a Vespa wasn't going to bother him.

  The man spun the binder around and held out a pen to Jack. "Sign right here, please."

  The man retrieved a set of keys and stepped out from behind the counter. "Follow me, sir." He led Jack outside and unlocked the chain that secured a black Vespa to the building. He handed the keys to Jack. "You've ridden one before, yes?"

  Jack nodded. "Yeah. I've got a motorcycle collection back in the States."

  The young man smiled. "You're all set then. Return it by eleven in the morning, next Saturday."

  Jack got on the moped, started it and rode back to the hotel. He stopped on the curb and a jogged into the lobby. He snapped to get Olivia's attention. She looked up from her magazine and smiled at him.

  "My moped is parked right outside. I'm just going up to the room to get something. Should be back in ten minutes at the most. Don't let anyone move it."

  "Yes, sir," she said.

  She pointed at the doorman. "Stand outside and make sure no one touches Mr. Harrod's moped."

  The elevator doors opened. New York and his wife were in it.

  "You go ahead, hon. I'm gonna talk to my new friend here," New York said.

  Jack smiled at the woman as she exited. After she passed he stepped into the elevator. He stood next to New York, uneven shoulder to shoulder.

  New York spoke first. "You ever pull a stunt like last night again, I'll have you killed."

  Jack said nothing.

  "Got it?"

  Jack still said nothing.

  "You got a hearing problem?"

  "Screw you," Jack replied.

  "Don't you know who I am?"

  "Do I care who you are?"

  The elevator dinged to signal they reached the fourth floor. Jack stepped out.

  "Might be best if you are gone when we get back," New York said.

  The elevator doors started to close. New York smiled at Jack.

  Jack stuck his foot in front of the doors. They stopped and retracted. Jack reached in, grabbed the man by his collar and dragged him out of the elevator. He placed his arm around the man's head, securing him in a tight headlock. He dragged the guy down the hall, banging his head into the wall wherever a door frame stuck out. They reached Jack's room. He opened the door and threw the man inside.

  New York stumbled and fell to the ground. He crawled to the far side of the room. Using the wall to stand up, he turned.

  Jack waited a few feet away. He kicked the man in the middle of his stomach. New York doubled over, but didn't fall to the floor. Jack stepped forward, grabbed the man by the back of his head and delivered a bone crushing knee to New York’s face.

  New York screamed out in pain. He fell back against the back door. The door gave way and the man spilled out onto the small balcony.

  Jack followed him out. He pulled the man to his feet. Slapped him across the face three times, backhand-openhand-backhand.

  "Do you know who I am?" Jack yelled.

  The dazed man didn't answer.

  "Hey, fuckface, I'm talking to you. Do you know who I am?"

  The man shook his head.

  "I'm the guy you hope never gets sent to your house. All of this, this beating, wouldn't happen if I were. It’d just be a bullet between your eyes. Got it?"

  The man didn't respond.

  Jack pulled his gun from his waistband and stuck it under the man's chin. "Got it?"

  The man shook his head again.

  Jack tucked the gun away and then lifted New York up and let him hang back over the balcony. "This what you want?"

  "No," the man shouted.

  "Then get out of my way." Jack pulled the man down, spun him and threw him inside the apartment.

  The man crawled toward the door. Jack stayed a foot behind, kicking him in the ass with the heel of his shoe. The man reached the door. Jack reached over him and pulled it open hard. It thumped as it slammed into New York's head. New York dropped to the floor and groaned. Jack stepped over him and dragged him into the hall. Jack pulled him by the back of his head and sat him up against the door to the man's room.

  Jack went back to his room, grabbed a second Beretta nine millimeter and a duffel bag packed with a few pairs of clothes, his computer and a few other supplies. He slipped out of his room and checked the hall to make sure no one had gathered around New York. Made his way to the stairwell. He reached the lobby and walked by Mrs. New York.

  "Your husband isn't feeling too well. He said to go on without him."

  He smiled at Olivia, stepped through the door, handed the doorman five euros. He hopped on his Vespa and drove away from the hotel.

  7

  Jack followed the curved highway that stretched along the coast of Southern France from Nice to Cap-d'Ail. Cap-d'Ail, a quaint seaside resort town, butts up to the border of Monaco. The small town of five thousand people was overrun nearly every day by daytrippers from Nice and Monaco who flock there for the scenery, serenity, and the happening shopping district.

  Jack's reason for visiting was slightly more sinister.

  He drove through town slowly and pulled over o
n the side of Sentier du Bord de Mer, Seaside Trail. He stepped off his moped and stood looking over the short cliff, out at the sea. He looked to the left and saw the city marina. He recalled the map from earlier. On the other side of the marina sat the border to Monaco, which occupied a two mile long, quarter mile deep stretch of shoreline. Another six miles past Monaco's sliver of the French Riviera was the French border with Italy.

  Jack pulled out his phone and called Pierre.

  "Hello?" Pierre said.

  "I'm here."

  "Already? I told you not to go until Sunday."

  "What can I say? I got restless legs."

  "You'll have to wait until tomorrow to speak with Oscar."

  "Why can’t I talk to him now?"

  "Why didn’t you wait till Sunday, like I instructed?"

  Jack sighed. He looked at his watch. Barely two in the afternoon. He looked around. Fixed his eyes on the land behind the marina. Monte Carlo.

  "OK, I'm going into Monaco for the night then."

  "Be careful," Pierre said.

  "How's Clarissa?"

  "Still have my men guarding her. She'll be well enough to move in a day or two. We can relocate her to a safe place then."

  "Keep me informed."

  Jack hung up, stuffed his phone into his pocket and crossed the border. He drove through the resort city of Monte Carlo until he found Av. De Monte-Carlo. He pulled off the road and entered the circular drive in front of Hotel de Paris. The four story front of the hotel stood out any time of day and especially at night. At night the hotel lit up as if it were built with gold. The first story of the building stood close to thirty feet high. Behind the main building, to the left, sat another section of the building. It was round, like a turret, and towered over the main building.

  Jack parked his moped between a 700 series BMW and a 500 series Mercedes. He admired the cars for a moment. He mulled over the idea of getting one when he returned to the States. After completing this job for Pierre and taking out Charles for the old man, he'd have netted over three hundred thousand dollars this trip. A new car might be a nice reward for his hard work. Jack smiled and shook the thought out of his head. Too fancy.